Guilt
by Pureauthor
Summary: Run as much as you wish. You can never outrun guilt. You cannot hide it. You cannot fight it. You cannot deal with it. You were never made to. Rated for nongraphic sexual scenes. /Franz X Amelia/


Guilt

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Disclaimer: I own nothing

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_Listen. The weight of weariness pulls you down. Self-reliance misleads you. Disappointments discourage you. Anxiety plagues you. But guilt? Guilt consumes you._ – Max Lucado, Traveling Light

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Do you know what it's like? _Can_ you know what it's like? 

Always wondering, always questioning. You know in your heart the correct path to take. You should tell him. Tell _her_. But every time you try, the weight of your own weakness wraps around you, tight as a cord. And so you trudge through the swamps of your own guilt, sinking deeper with each step until you can no longer extricate yourself even if you wanted – _truly_ wanted – to.

How had it come to this?

I had just wanted… I…

I'd just wanted to comfort her.

She'd come to me first, certainly. I was, after all, her friend. We'd bonded almost upon sight. We shared interests, goals… We quickly learnt to seek out the other in dilemmas we couldn't handle ourselves.

She had been crying. She was always crying. We'd just set up camp, I was looking forward to a nice rest – a lull from the seemingly endless fighting – when she'd appeared sniffling.

It was painfully obvious she was just trying to control herself until there were relatively fewer people around. I invited her into my tent.

Once we were inside, the dam burst. He'd been snide to her again, unwittingly demeaning her competence and right to battle alongside the others. Some part of me knows he means well, but sometimes, you just want to smack him for being so thick-skinned.

Quivering and sobbing, she poured out the story, piece by tearful piece. It seemed that this was a culmination of every single hurtful thing he'd said to her ever since they'd first knew each other. The longer it continued the worst it got, to the point where she seemed ready to fall apart physically.

I wish I could say she'd initiated it. Even now, some deep, dark part of me wishes I could say she'd been the one to reach out, to seek comfort. But she hadn't. I'd been the one who reached out, held her close, stroking her hair, comforting her.

Adjusting ourselves so that we were in some sort of sitting hug, I continued to hold her close, rubbing my hand up and down the small of her back, until her sobs slowly ceased. She managed a slightly shaky smile.

"Thanks, Amelia." She whispered.

"Anytime, Neimi." Neither of us wanted to leave this bubble, this warm cocoon of safety and vulnerability that the two of us shared. It represented trust, caring, friendship.

It brought us disaster.

God knows what was different this time. We'd been in these sort of positions dozens of times before, but we'd never we'd never felt anything sexual or compromising about that. It had simply been a physical expression of the intimacy we shared as friends.

That day, though… Maybe it was just the expression of innocence and vulnerability etched on her face. Maybe it was her half-closed eyes, giving her a dreamy look as she hummed some forgotten song from her childhood. Maybe it was the way her hands brushed against my own, caressing them gently. I don't know.

All I _do_ know is that her light touches against my skin became electrifying. My light massage on her back began to stray farther and farther downwards, towards places my hands had no business going. I don't know, maybe some distant part of my mind was wishing she would tell me to stop, look at me with some hurt and surprised look, that she would do something, anything, to pull us from this pit we were digging ourselves deeper and deeper into. But she didn't

Instead, she sighed, the warmth of her breath somehow sending chills down my neck.

"Oh… that feels good…" She whispered into my ear as her embrace around me shifted, tightened. Or had I been the one to say that as we flowed together, deeper into our hug? I'm not sure. Details like that became secondary, backdrop images against the maroon haze of pleasure enshrouding us.

The next thing I was aware of was her lips pressing against my own. And then… our bodies crushed against each other and the damp, crumpled floor sheets of the tent. I remember that our clothes began to disappear from our bodies with an almost frightening speed.

The next few minutes became a blur, a blending of muffled groans, sweaty skin, grasping fingers, and a cresting wave of pleasure that grew and grew until it – finally! – it peaked, sending shockwaves through my frame. Spent, I collapsed to the floor, where I lay gasping for breath.

She rolled over, a look of dazed contentment still on her face. In a minute or so, she was asleep with barely a murmur.

Not me. As I lay there, trying to catch my breath, I was increasingly aware of a sickening feeling in my gut. Guilt, shame, and revulsion – all this rushed through me, forming a swirling whirlpool of emotion that refused to subside as I shakily got to my feet and began redressing myself.

For days afterwards, I wandered the camp in a daze, head spinning. Whenever I thought about the incident, about our… copulation, I felt something terrible eating away at me. I felt… defiled. Unclean.

But I couldn't stop.

A few days, maybe even a week, at most. I could never last longer before I caved in and sought her out again. In inns or fireside tents, it mattered not. Often, we had to gag each other so our squeals of ecstatic pleasure would not awaken and alert the others to our affair. She seemed to wait for me, ready and trusting whenever I –always I – initiated our nighttime encounters. She also seemed perfectly content with this relationship that we shared. Not I. Every time, every time the rush of pleasure subsided I would be left with the horrible and ever growing burden of guilt.

Yet I couldn't stop. Or, more accurately, I didn't really want to.

I craved the pleasure. I lusted after the torrid sensations. I hungered for the stimulation, the arousal. Sooner or later, the lure would become too strong, and I would… I would…

I've heard that priests and monks call such relationships abominable, unnatural. Maybe they're right. Maybe I _do_ deserve to be condemned for all I've done. I don't know.

And you know what the worst thing was?

Our… relationship, for lack of a better word, was purely physical. We turned to each other for comfort, affirmation, guidance. The sex, however, was simply an outlet, a tool from which we derived pleasure.

And always, always, the all-pervasive fear at the back of my mind: What if he found out?

Franz… we'd been… close for some time now. Like a shadowy demon that refused to go away, the thought taunted me constantly. This was betrayal, of his trust, of his care, of his love. If he knew… if he realized… What would he do? What would he say?

Fear, guilt, shame… all of these combined, and yet… still not enough to quiet my cravings for the flesh. Somehow, my mind managed to rationalize it all away by telling myself that I didn't love her, nor anywhere close to it. How I brought myself to consider it permission to continue instead of a warning to stop, I don't know. The acts continued.

And still my heart ached. Just as neither safeguard nor warnings of temperance were enough to keep me away, no flimsy excuse or justification was enough to silence the inner voices that uttered endless condemnations. I was trapped in a vicious cycle; desperately raging at myself, half- hoping someone would discover our forbidden copulations and end the torment.

Then it happened. He found out.

How, I don't know. He never volunteered such information, and I never had the gall to request it of him.

It had been after another one of our meetings. I was exhausted, and I stumbled towards the door. In my mind, some part of me wondered if lately, the pleasure rushes had been tapering off. Behind me, I could hear her drifting off to sleep, her regular breathing evidence of that fact.

I opened the door, closed it as quietly as I could, turned around, and there he was, sitting on a chair down the hallway, arms folded, passive face staring blankly into the wall in front of him.

Neither of us needed to say anything. One glance at his face, and somehow, I knew. _He_ knew.

Can mere words describe the storm of fear that thundered over me? What would he do? What would he say? Would he lash out, strike me? I could already imagine his harsh words, berating, condemning. Would he do that? Would he deride me in the middle of the night, for all the world to hear?

No. Worse than that. He just sat. Aside from the occasional blink, and the shallow rise and fall of his chest, he might as well have been a mannequin. He didn't move. He didn't scold. He didn't sigh.

He. Just. Sat.

The silence was deafening. My knees trembled ever more violently, and I felt the beginnings of a sob building up in the back of my throat. It was over. It was all over. He knew.

Who knows how long the two of us remained, locked in the silence of the night. My gut was churning, and I knew I had to break the silence or go mad.

"Franz…" I began. I never got any farther. At the sound of my voice, he stood and headed to his room, walking past me and vanishing past the door.

No sign of rage or anger. Nothing. He didn't even slam the door. And that made it so much worse.

The instant the soft 'click!' of the door sounded, my legs gave way and I crumpled to the floor, hands pressed to my face to muffle my sobs, and to stem the flood of tears.

I didn't catch sight of him the next day as we set out again and pitched camp near some marshland. A large battle occurred on that day, and I –useless as ever – kept to the back lines for support. He was probably one the front lines, faring superbly against any foe he encountered. Sometimes our relationship as rivals felt completely superfluous.

No, I didn't see him that day.

The day after that, I wandered over to what I hoped was a secluded area of the camp. I needed to be alone. I needed time. Time to think. Time to rest. Time to reflect.

Instead, I found him, training. His sword gleamed silver in the morning light, and the way he was sweating showed he had been there for quite some time.

Would things have been better had I turned back and walked away? I don't know. What I do know is the outcome of what I did. I stayed. I had brought my lance with me, and apart from the usual war-cries, all was silent between us as we pushed our bodies to their physical limits. Gradually even those faded too, to be replaced by our breathless pants as we moved ourselves into ever more intricate strikes, parries, and stances.

How many times had we trained together? Whenever we had done that, our sessions would be marked with smiles and gentle words of encouragement. Now, there was only the ever-deepening undercurrent of tension between us.

Finally, I couldn't take it anymore. Halting in mid-step, I turned to face him, just completing a sword stroke that blurred so fast I could barely see it.

"Please say something." Mine was not a demand. It was not even a request. I was begging. I wanted something, _anything_ that could begin to break this impassable barrier between us.

"What _is_ there to say?" He replied, still refusing to look in my direction. He halted, lowered his blade.

"I don't know, Amelia. I honestly don't. I think about the closeness and trust we shared, or at least what I _thought_ we shared. Then I think about how I felt when I first found out, and I just…" He shook his head. "One part of me wants to forget anything ever happened between us and be done with it, another part of me wants to run you through right here, right now, another part wants us to be reconciled, go back to the way it was before. And all of me would give anything to know what to do in this situation."

Sheathing his sword and picking up his discarded tunic, he half-turned to face me. "Don't try to talk to me anymore, Amelia."

And then he was gone.

Lute once told me that certain animals could, in times of drought and famine, curl up within themselves, cutting down energy consumption to a minimum. Then, it would survive and outlast the drought.

That was what I did now. There was no other option. I curled up and held on, keeping my ability to feel on backburner right now, trying to come to grips with the current situation

How had it come to this? How had managed to utterly wreck the relationships with the two people I cared for the most?

If I had needed any further convincing that he now hated me, our conversation had set it in stone. He thought I was trash – worthless.

I was fully convinced he would never want to speak to me again.

A week went by, then two. I remained in a constant daze of crushing guilt, consuming fear, gnawing anxiety. Guilt that I had sabotaged our relationship. Fear that I had done so forever. Anxiety that maybe, just maybe, I had not.

What was I supposed to think? What was I supposed to do? I didn't know. So I did nothing. In a way, I suppose this worked for the better – The shock of being discovered, the endless tension, halted my night liaisons with her. But other than that, I progressed from day to day in a dawnless shadow.

Then one evening, as the heat of day was just giving way to the cool of the night, I heard my tent flap rustle behind me. And I heard a familiar voice.

"The stars are beautiful tonight." I instinctively tensed at the sound, my stomach tying itself into knots. I suddenly experienced extreme difficulty in breathing.

I turned to face him, half-wondering if this was some trick of jangled nerves my tortured mind was playing on me. But no, he was standing there, a slightly uncertain smile on his face, crouched down to let his head duck into the tent.

"Join me for a walk?" The way he phrased the question made it sound so… so blasted _simple_. There was no trace of bitterness of accusation, just a warm, inviting tone. As if somehow, the both of us could just make up and just forget about everything and just… just…

"Sure." I said, hastily wiping away brimming tears and hoping he wouldn't notice.

The cool breeze whipped around us as we exited the tent. He was right – the first of the stars were already making their appearance in the cloudless sky. It was a spectacular sight, I'm sure. But I wasn't paying very much attention to them. My heart was still in my throat. I had no doubt that sooner or later _that_ issue was going to brought up.

We paced together in silence, walking in a gentle arc that took us past the outer fringe of the camp, towards a still lake in the distance. As we walked, I could sense him preparing to talk. He was only waiting for the right time.

Finally, he sighed and opened his mouth. "You thought I was going to leave you forever, didn't you."

The way he said it – matter-of-fact, bluntly – caught me by surprise. I fumbled around a bit, trying to find the correct answer. I stared at him, trying to discern some of the emotion that lurked beneath the passive mask that was his face.

"I… I thought… well, you – I mean, I-"

"Yes or no will do fine."

I closed my eyes and squeezed out the answer. "Yes."

I opened my eyes in time to catch him shaking his head. "If I made you think that way… I'm sorry." He stopped, raising his head to gaze at the heavenward stars. "I… wanted some time to let the emotion subside before I tried to make a decision about this. I want – no, _need_ – to be able to think this through clearly."

I could feel my mouth suddenly go very, very dry. I swallowed hard, already cringing slightly away from him.

"You look frightened." Franz said with a slight smile.

No response seemed necessary, so I didn't offer one. I did try to straighten out and look him in the eye, though. It wasn't easy.

"Anyway… You hurt me. Badly." His smile had vanished, and he was staring at me with what appeared to be a completely neutral expression on his face. "I assume you know that."

I couldn't hold his gaze. I couldn't. I eyes focused downwards, my head and shoulder stooped under the weight of self-condemnation.

"But do you know why?" The unexpected nature of this question jolted me out of my fear, and I looked into his face once again. There was a serious, almost thoughtful look about him.

"It's because of how much you mean to me." Franz said softly. My eyes widened. Franz…

"I still love you, you know?" He shook his head. "That's why… that's why I need to know – Do you still – Do you still…care for me?."

"I… I do. I still love you." My voice was barely above a whisper, just loud enough for him to hear. "What I did… it could never… I didn't… I wasn't trying to replace you or anything. I just needed…"

Franz remained silent for a while as I fumbled my way through my stumbling apologies. After I finished, we stood there in the darkness, neither looking the other in the eye. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, he stepped forward, took my hand in his own. "I love you. I forgive you. Let's move on." Somehow, he knew there was never a statement I needed to hear more at that moment. It took a Herculean effort not to break down and cry onto his shoulder.

Hand in hand, we returned to the camp. How different everything seemed. On the way to the lakeside, the silence had been harsh, thick and oppressive. But now… now the silence was… freer somehow. There still lingered some of the tension between us, a fear that things could never return to the way they were before. But the silence was comfortable, flowing between us as easily as the night breeze.

And the days after that… they almost completely reverted to the days of before… before I ever had to worry about cover-ups and to deal with the agonizing guilt. Training together, eating together, looking out for each other on the battlefield – it had a new quality about it, as if our bond had been made stronger by surviving that trial.

A month passed, and slowly, I began to stop fearing. Maybe it was silly of me, but I couldn't shake the fear that this was to be temporary, that somehow, I would be sucked back into the nightmare.

But it didn't happen. As the days wore on, the knot of fear slowly began to untangle itself. I began to relax – to loosen up, enjoy life more.

It nearly proved fatal.

Thus far, since the day I found out Franz knew, I'd kept myself from her. There would be the occasional chat as we polished and cleaned our weapons, or perhaps dinner-table conversations with the other ladies. But I'd refused to allow myself into a position where the two of us could be alone for any extended period of time. It would be too risky.

And yet, one night, as we holed up in an inn, I found myself inviting her into my room for a midnight snack. I'd baked a pie, and it seemed like a waste to eat it on my own. Of course, males wouldn't be allowed in females' rooms, and vice versa. If I wanted companionship…

How could I have been so stupid? How could I have blatantly exposed myself to such temptation?

Even now I wish I could say that I had tried to resist, that I had truly fought it. But I hadn't. I had willingly succumbed, once again, to the intense craving I felt with nary a whisper of protest – an act that culminated with my legs wrapped around her head, my tunic stuffed into my mouth to muffle my screams.

She fell asleep on my bed, a serene expression on her face while I… I curled up at a corner of the bed, physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted, and cried myself to sleep.

At the first light of dawn I left the room, stumbling towards the exit of the inn. I was devastated. How? Why? Just when… just when… I needed to be alone. I needed to think.

A tiny grove of trees dotted the area some distance away from the inn. I stumbled into the clearing, head swimming. What was I supposed to do now?

Just then I heard the sound of footfalls coming up behind me.

"Amelia?" I heard Franz call. "I saw you leaving the inn. What's wr-?"

I cowered against a trunk of a tree, my every emotion etched plainly on my face. Guilt, fear, self-loathing, everything I had felt before now returned. What I had done was plain for him to see. I was naked before his eyes. What could I offer? Any excuse, justification, all of it, it all seemed painfully hollow.

I trembled violently before his gaze, watching helplessly as surprise gave way to confusion, then shocked realization, and then everything faded away into slow, burning rage. His fist clenched, trembling slightly.

Just before my eyes misted over with tears, I saw him turn away.

He would leave. He would walk away and forsake me. What I had feared so long ago… he had given me a second chance and I had thrown it away, so callously.

No, please, Franz, I wanted to say to him. Please, please stop. Don't go away. Come back. Not here, not now… I… I _need_ you. But I couldn't. What right did I have to ask for his mercy? He had offered me everything he could before, and now I had…

Great, shuddering sobs wracked my body as I fell backwards, leaning on the tree for support. What had I done? What had I done? An anguished howl, a wail of despair, tore itself from my lungs as I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling burning tears flow. The knot in my heart tightened, my breathing felt constricted, my throat felt like it been suffocated with cotton, and I wept. I wept freely.

My legs hadn't stopped shaking from the instant Franz had seen me, and now the trembling only increased. Shuddering, I tried to stand straight, tried to compose myself – and instead my legs gave way, sending me tumbling forward –

Only to be caught in strong arms that quickly hoisted me back onto my feet.

Who? I glanced up hastily. My tears formed an impenetrable screen that blurred everything, but the face… it almost… looked like…

"Franz?" I blurted out, my mouth hanging open.

His arms encircled me, holding me close as one of his hands stroked my hair. "It's all right." I heard him whisper, gentle, reassuring. "It's all right."

That was it. I broke down. Burying my head into his shoulder, I sobbed freely as he simply stood there, embracing me. One arm held me up so I would not fall, the other held me close so I would not doubt.

"Franz…" I whimpered. "Franz…" I clung to him like a drowning man to a rock. He was my lifeline, the only thing I had left to depend upon.

"Thank you…" I finally managed. "Thank… ahh… you… I'm… I'm sorry…"

As the sun rose and flooded the morning with golden light, we just stood there, locked in our embrace.

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It's been three years. Perhaps a little more. 

As I lie here in the darkness, I think back. Twinges of anxiety had always marked the past three years, a reminder of things to help me not to return.

With Franz at my side, I had talked to Neimi about our relationship. It hadn't been easy, but we had pulled through in the end.

I had never looked back, never succumbed again.

But earlier today, doubt still gnawed at me. What I did was so long ago… and yet… and yet…

As I focused once again on the inner core of my guilt, anxiety washed over me. What did Franz see in me? Why would he choose me, me of all people? I wasn't worthy of his love.

For a moment, the shadows deepened. Then I looked to him.

He had been staring at me expectantly, a warm smile on his face. His hand was outstretched, reaching towards me, and his eyes… the pure and perfect love in his eyes washed away my residual doubts and gnawing anxieties.

So I took his hand. I said yes. And I blushed with pleasure as he slipped the ring onto my finger and drew me into a passionate kiss, and the crowd erupted into cheers and applause.

And now here I am. I can feel his steady, regular breaths on my neck. My head is pillowed on one outstretched arm, while the other curls around my midsection.

The consummation of our marriage just now... The physical pleasure… I honestly can't tell if it was as good as my times with Neimi or not. After three years, specific levels tend to get hazy.

But that didn't matter so much as the sheer _fulfillment_ I felt. No guilt. No lingering anxiety. Just pure joy, sheer bliss, in our union of willing souls. I was and am filled with the supremely satisfying sensation that this was where I was meant to be.

And so now, with a smile on my face and his warmth on my back, I go to sleep.

Forgiven.

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"_Franz?"_

"_Hm?"_

"_I've been meaning to ask you… why did you come back?"_

"_Huh?"_

"_On that day… among the trees… when you saw me and knew… why did you come back? I never… I never deserved your love less than at that moment."_

"_Well, maybe that's true, but…"_

"_But?"_

"_Something told me… something told me it was at that moment that you needed it the most."_

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Heh, I realized halfway through this that if I my writing plan stuck to the schedule, I'd finish this on Good Friday. Slightly symbolic, in a way. 

Thanks also to Writer Awakened for his critique and advice.

Anyway, thanks for reading. Please review.


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